In Love With the Sun
by Doleesa
Summary: "Because if Alex is the yellow sun, then Lena is the heavens above and the earths below and all the stars in between." [Originally posted as Ch.14 of my oneshot series, Child of Our Golden Sun, though it can be read standalone. I just thought some people would like the dose of fluff and romance without needing to look too far into kid fics if that's not something they're into.]


**A/N: I got some really sweet comments on this chapter of my oneshot series and thought it would be nice as a standalone because everyone needs to lose themselves in some romance and feels.**

 **So, um. Yeah. Have some accidental poetry kinda inspired by Hozier's Work Song.**

 **Find me on tumblr; I'm dishonoringthefamilycow.**

* * *

When Kara Zor-El's entire planet bursts into fire and ash, lost among the stars, she learns a valuable lesson – appreciate things more fully; commit everything – right down to the most frivolous detail – to memory because it's true what they say, you never know what you have until you've lost it.

(If only she hadn't had to pay such a steep price to learn it.)

But now she clings to that lesson, a silent motto she lives by.

Like when she sees a bird soaring through the sky, or an entire flock headed south for winter, she stops and admires, no matter how many years it's been since she's discovered birds, awed despite the fact that she herself is _flying_ among them.

Like when she finds a new brand of coffee for her mornings that hits _just_ the right spot, she'll tune all her heightened senses to it – from the noise and whir of the machine; to the rich bitter aroma filling her apartment; to the warmth of the plain white mug in her palm; to the deep dark color as she takes it black; to the first drop that hits her tongue, scalding and smooth, that conjures up visions of green eyes and sinful red lips.

(She risks Snapper's wrath on these rare mornings, serenely walking into CatCo late and uncaring as he snips and assigns her articles about the faulty sewage system on Second Avenue.)

* * *

Like Alex.

Alex, who ends up introducing her – sometimes begrudgingly so – to most of her favorite things.

Like the ocean, because the smell of the salty breeze tended to cling to Alex in the early hours of dawn.

Like the sounds of popping popcorn because it's a reminder of an afternoon spent huddled under the table with Alex, and a promise of long summer nights in, watching endless classic movies.

Like the chill of the pint of ice cream silently pressed into Kara's hands after her first report card comes in and her A+ in Science is followed by a jarring D- in English, and the warmth of the softest fuzzy blanket – that doesn't irritate her incredibly sensitive skin – draped across her shoulders like a cape.

Like the comforting weight of _Alex_ settling in with her in bed late at night when her tears _just won't stop_ and her anguish over a lost life feels heavier than what she can carry even under a yellow sun.

Alex, who is Kara's yellow sun, and the reason she believes in soulmates.

* * *

Kara basks in all of her favorite things.

Basks in all that is _Lena_.

Because if Alex is the yellow sun, then Lena is the heavens above and the earths below and all the stars in between.

Lena, who is the warmth of Rao's red light reborn on Earth to make Kara's very soul sing.

* * *

Lena, who grew up in the cold Luthor Mansion where Lionel was always too busy, and Lillian didn't care about her.

(When Lex was still Lex and her favorite person in the universe.)

Where there wasn't much in the way of traditions.

Lena, who doesn't necessarily understand the fuss regarding traditions, but will make so much of it for Kara's Earth birthday.

Lena, who times it so one week of her annual leave each year falls during Kara's Earth birthday, and goes out of her way to spoil Kara rotten.

Lena, who wakes up at 3AM before the sun – before _Kara_ – to make sure their picnic is ready for their breakfast in the light of dawn.

Lena, who flies in a French baker with a laundry list of absurd demands, like a treehouse with a south-western facing bedroom and 20 eggs from a particularly massaged chicken in Iowa.

And Lena complies because Kara loves cake, loves cake made specifically by this person because it's a reminder of their impromptu weekend getaway to Paris where they spent their days walking hand in hand trying all manners of food, and their nights spent tangled in sheets and lost in each other.

So Lena builds treehouses and underground bunkers and considers just buying the damned chicken from Iowa because the smile on Kara's face at the sight of the cakes – one for each day of the week every year – is more than worth it.

Lena, who makes plans and sends the Danvers Sisters away to spend the day alone together, arranging spa days and karaoke nights and exclusive first tastings in restaurants booked solid for months in advance otherwise.

And Lena, who ends the day – every day – lighting candles in every nook and cranny of her – _their_ – penthouse, dressed in nothing more than Kara's own favorite button down on her and expensive lingerie to greet Kara when her day with Alex ends.

Lena, who fills her with so much love, Kara swears she can barely eat.

* * *

Lena, who was forced to grow up too quickly under Lillian's cruel reign and mastered the art of being a serious businesswoman by the age of 24.

Lena, who is strong and stoic and smart, who boldly commands a meeting with a firm tone and daring colors.

Lena, who is known internationally for being a force to be reckoned with.

Lena, who projects a beast of an image because it's a man's world she temporarily lives in while she climbs her way to the top to rule it.

A fearsome, beast of an image to keep her peers busy and distracted while she sneaks off to the amusement park she's rented out for the day for the children in the orphanage she's quietly built.

Lena, who does charity not for tax purposes or positive public recognition.

Lena, who spends Saturdays reading to children in the public library, who pulls the kids and their books of choice to her lap and reads every letter of every word in whatever silly voice or accent will make them laugh hardest.

Lena, who spends Sundays playing with blocks and making intricate jigsaw puzzles and just listening to fantastical stories about far off worlds weaved for her by the alien children in the orphanage that takes in the aliens of National City who were orphaned because the race of Men is harsh and unforgiving and scared, the aliens that escaped one vicious world only to get lost in another one on their way to their intended utopia.

Lena, who works her hardest to find cures, and spends hours kissing away booboos, and cries all night after each little _too_ _soon_ funeral she attends, aching for days after every time she glances at the piles of artwork she's collected from the Luthor Family Children's Hospital – some of her most prized possessions.

Lena, who is more caring and loving than any being Kara's ever met on any planet or in any universe.

Lena, who is so sweet, Kara swears she gets toothaches just from kissing her.

* * *

Lena, who is sharp angles and hard lines.

Like a strong jawline that often clenches with determination and necessary restraint – a jawline Kara loves tracing with her lips.

Like a smooth neck that stretches taut with pride and stubbornness in the face of obnoxious old men – a neck that Kara adores trailing her fingers along in the late hours of the night until Lena slowly falls asleep.

Like a sharp tongue that is always ready to strike life-altering business deals or strike down insolent individuals – a tongue that captivates Kara with every letter it forms.

Lena, who sheds all of her pointy bits the moment _Kara_ is in her orbit.

Lena, who melts into continuous curves, soft and pliable and moldable under the influence of Kara's words and gaze and touches, under Kara's lips.

Lena, who pays the closest attention to every detail that makes Kara brighten, every word that makes Kara smile, every look that makes Kara shiver, every touch that makes Kara tremble.

Lena, who learns all there is to know, all that is _Kara_.

Lena, who knows that there isn't a human on Earth that can exert enough pressure to offer a tight enough hug for Kara to feel on her bad days.

Lena, who eagerly goes out of her way to explore other options.

Like Eliza's advice to scratch one particular spot at the base of Kara's skull when she can't sleep because the nightmares are too vivid.

Like Alex's tip about temple massages and gentle circular pressure below and around her eyes when Kara's pushed her heatvision one scream short of a solar flare.

Lena, who learns a few things on her own too.

Learns about how much her various shades of red lipstick drive Kara mad with want, so Lena stocks up on them to use only for Kara, for _marking_ Kara whose skin can't be marred otherwise.

Learns about how taut Kara's muscles become when they attend galas and men – like Maxwell Lord and Morgan Edge – have sugar-coated, vile things to say to Lena, and Kara's fists clench tight enough that Lena's worried a few times about Kara's knuckles breaking through her skin.

Learns that the only way Kara loosens up again, long after Lena's personally dealt with the less than esteemed gentlemen – because Kara would never undermine Lena's strength or lessen her to a damsel by punching their lights out how she'd really like to – is by gentle fingers dragging perfectly manicured nails along the inside of Kara's wrist while she murmurs sweet nothings against the skin of her jaw where she's finished pressing loving kisses.

Learns the intricate rhythm of Kara's heartbeat against her thumb when the rest of her hand's curved around a tensing or bobbing or swallowing throat.

Because when Kara hops into her office midday with lunch and a smile, or stumbles into their bedroom in the wee hours of dawn after hours of brutal fighting and forming bruises, Lena's palms itch.

Itch to rest against a crest that drove her beloved brother mad and tore her already dysfunctional existence apart, trace a crest that saves her life every second she breathes.

Itch to feel too warm flesh and the hammering of a pulse, the rush of blood.

Itch to _know_ that the pounding pulse is still there, strong and steady and loud enough even for her human ears.

Learns about how sensitive Kara's neck can be on the best of days, but _more_ after she solar flares, when she's vulnerable and soft and feels _too much_ pressure, when she's most like a _Kryptonian_ again.

And Lena spends hours upon hours trailing the backs of her fingers along Kara's throat and thumbs stumbling over protruding collarbones only to land in the delicate dip in between until Kara's cooled skin stops crawling.

Lena, who never really grew up knowing how to offer comfort, much less how be physical about it, but never hesitates about giving her _all_ to Kara, no matter what wrong Kara's hands or body have done.

* * *

So, yeah. Kara has an entire planet worth of little details and favorite things.

None quite measure up to the vision that is Lena Luthor.


End file.
